


Throwaway Devotion

by Xetera



Series: Erstwhile [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anger, Angst, Internal Conflict, Knight Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Prince Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Swearing, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xetera/pseuds/Xetera
Summary: Sapnap is haunted by the petrichor of lost love, the faint trace of something long since gone leaving an earthy, bitter smell of his heart’s once tireless verdure. The cherishing rains are over, and he’s left out to dry and crumble away into dust.-From Tommy's stream: "Streaming before Exile Day."
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Erstwhile [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052444
Comments: 18
Kudos: 84





	Throwaway Devotion

Patrolling is tiresome and dull work. Sapnap has survived thus far by losing himself in the past, drowning in what once was to escape the biting chill of his armor sitting heavy on his shoulders. The obsidian wall isn’t comfortable in the slightest, but now, he hardly minds.

The numbing cold melts away to a vision of spring, delicate and new, gazing out upon where the forest met lush plains for the first time. He remembers the hope; he treasures it. Sapnap flicks through his usual scenes for comfort until he eventually settles on the moment he always does, the one he keeps close in his chest.

Fresh off the thrill of starting anew in this land, he bathes in the company of the source of all his affections.

“If I’m going to miss anything, it’s the food. God, I’d kill to taste mince pies and gingerbread again,” Dream says. He’s staring wistfully out at the setting sun from where they sit on the bank of a pond. Sapnap is mesmerized by the way his feet-kicking leaves ripples in the water. “What about you? What’s your one big thing?”

That snaps him back to attention.

“Oh, um… I don’t know. I don’t really… I don’t have the same… y’know,” Sapnap replies.

Dream’s face twists into guilt.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to. When people wait on you hand and foot for long enough you forget that there’s anything else,” he says meekly. “We had good memories together, though.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of hard when so much of is- it’s hard not to feel like all you are is your worst- like- it’s-”

Dream places a hand on Sapnap’s, saving him from that train of thought.

“You are not your worst actions. Okay?” The touch is electric. Sapnap is on the verge of tears again, just as he always is when he’s offered these kindnesses, when he’s told he’s worth something. Dream looks out onto the horizon. “It’d be easy to say that it was your duty, and you had no other choice. But I know that doesn’t make it easier for you.”

“It doesn’t,” Sapnap replies.

_You make it easier, though._

“Just because you were raised to serve me doesn’t mean that’s all that you are. The people you- the things you had to do to defend the kingdom don’t define you. This is a chance to leave all that behind. That’s why we’re here. Why we’re all here,” Dream says.

Sapnap is reminded of George, who’s asleep by the campfire behind them, blanketed in his torn-up gown. A frown tugs at his face.

“And if I continue to destroy everything I touch, what then?” he asks.

“You won’t. And if you do, you have us to help you. Always,” Dream says.

“The scared faces of people I hurt, innocents; it’s ingrained in me. The image of blood on my sword is never going to leave,” Sapnap says.

“I know. Maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe you can be good in spite of that,” Dream says. 

He turns to him and squeezes his hand, the look on his face being one Sapnap’s come to love, the one that always precedes him talking about something excitedly.

“Do you remember the court fine arts counselor? The Italian one with the funny eyebrows, who always called me ‘offspring of the sovereign’ or something?” he chuckles. Sapnap nods. “I was usually bored during his lectures, but there was a lesson he taught that really stuck with me. He called it crettature- or craquelure, in the king’s English. It’s the fine cracks that form in an oil painting once it ages. He said the craquelure is just as much a part of the artwork as the paint itself.”

“Why would you want a bunch of shitty cracks in your painting?” Sapnap asks.

Dream laughs, not his laugh while he’s entertaining high-profile guests or sitting at the dinner table like a spectacle- it’s far more regal and genuine than that.

“That’s the thing- it should just wreck the whole artwork, but it makes these intricate, beautiful patterns. And, it’s said that those cracks are filled with history and everything that painting sees. Those cracks in your being are just as beautiful, Sapnap,” Dream says.

He doesn’t continue, simply laying back against the Earth as if he didn’t say something that Sapnap is going to remember for the rest of his life. Sapnap lays down as well, kicking off his boots and dipping his toes into the water. Dream kicks and splashes him, giggling as he stares up at the darkening sky.

The sound of shuffling from inside the walls pulls him from his daydreaming. Right, patrolling. The thing he’s supposed to be doing. When he spots Tommy, he writes out a note and balls it up, throwing it at him.

_I can’t believe you’re going to be exiled, LOL_

Tommy looks up at the wall and glares at him.

“Tommy, I have a place you can go once you’re exiled,” Sapnap calls down to him.

“Where?” he asks.

“Well, Mexican L’manberg of course. We would never exile you. How messed up is that? Your best friend is going to exile you. I would be so sad if Dream did that to me,” Sapnap replies. His memory is corrupted with flickering images of cold, unfeeling eyes behind a mask. He clears his throat. “Pretty embarrassing.”

He keeps his eye on Tommy as he jumps the far wall inconspicuously. This is about the time he should be doing what guards do. Instead of stopping him, Sapnap watches Tommy with idle curiosity. He looks like he hasn’t slept, but still carries his usual machismo in his stride.

Sapnap’s in the mood for a distraction. It’s better than sitting on the L’manberg wall and wallowing in long-dead hope and joy. Tommy is nothing if not entertaining to be around.

They chat for a while, Sapnap indulging in his shenanigans.

“I thought we were gonna be pals, I thought we were gonna be pally-wags. But instead, you’ve been sucking up to Dream,” Tommy complains.

“I mean- orders are orders man,” Sapnap says.

_Since when did he start giving me orders?_

“You’ve been kiss-assing, man. You’re a kiss-ass,” Tommy replies.

_When did we end up back at square one? Where I’m just his knight, his accessory?_

He doesn’t let it bother him. Sapnap’s grateful to be at Dream’s side, he’s ready and willing to do whatever he asks, he’s desperate to-

_That’s enough._

Sapnap follows Tommy around while he builds a shack underneath a house in L’manberg, teasing that he’s going to kill him and talking about drugs, which is par for the course if he’s being honest. Tommy’s family are a strange crew, so the company of a ghost and a wanted criminal are… interesting, to say the least. In fact, he almost forgets about his troubles, until he refers to him as “one of Dream’s guards” to Ghostbur, of course.

That eats away at him. Sapnap is reminded of a conversation that took place the other day. Once they're alone, he opens his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I actually have a question, so yesterday… when Dream was getting real mad at you, he said he didn’t… He said he didn’t care about anything,” Sapnap clenches his jaw to keep the emotion out of his voice, not that it helps. “I mean, surely he cares about me, right?”

He shouldn’t be asking this, especially not to him.

“You think? Right, Tommy? Surely he does, right?”

Tommy chews at his lips, his face going through different stages of uncertainty.

“He cares about George, if that makes you feel any better,” he settles on.

“No no no, yeah, but surely he cares about me as well, right? Because like, we’re like friends, you know? Like best friends, you know? I think, like, he definitely cares about me, right?” Sapnap asks, the words leaving his mouth faster than he can control them.

“Yes,” Tommy says. His expression is unconvinced and the reply is forced.

“Tommy, you don’t have to- you can give it to me straight, I’m tough-”

“He doesn’t care about you.”

Sapnap’s shoulders sink.

“You’re just one of his many bitches,” Tommy says.

“Oh. Oh… well, that’s- that’s, that’s okay, right? Like, I mean that’s fine,” Sapnap replies. He’s digging his fingernails in his palm hard enough to draw blood.

“Well, it’s very sad,” Tommy replies.

_No shit it’s sad, you fucking idiot. You have no clue, you have no fucking clue._

“I mean, that’s fine by me,” Sapnap stutters out.

He turns away, going back into the new downstairs house. Tommy offers sympathies that do absolutely nothing for him. There’s no point in being mean to the kid; he didn’t ask for this. If he were less torn up right now, he’d say he has hope that Tommy won’t be exiled. But even in the state that he’s in, he knows there’s no escaping Tommy’s fate. His friendship with Tubbo is never going to be what it was.

Tommy’s a smart person, he’ll definitely be fine if he has to fend for his own.

His immediate thought is: _We ran away from home, and we ended up fine._

But that one isn’t true anymore, is it?

That’s how the story goes, right? You get a glimpse of the sun and then you’re thrown to rot in the snow among the graves of flora and fauna. Sapnap can give him all the kind words in the world, but it’s not going to stop the inevitable. Someday that special someone won’t want you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Techno, Wilbur, and Phil catch Tommy’s attention, and he heads off to go talk with them, thankfully leaving Sapnap alone. He needs to let out this knot in his chest or else he’ll end up doing something he'll regret.

He takes the opportunity to race out into the forest, out of earshot from the nation. Unsheathing his sword, he takes a few admittedly excessive swings at a tree trunk, hacking away at the bark. Sapnap’s mind pulls him back to another night, sitting on the edge of the dock, exhausted from placing the finishing touches on their new home.

“I was afraid we’d be dead by the first night. I can see us living here, building a future here,” Dream says.

“Yeah. Me too. Now that we have a roof over our heads we can probably have lives again,” Sapnap replies.

“God, yeah. I can’t wait to explore my own art, since there's no more tutors and noblemen breathing down my neck,” he sighs. “I’ve actually been working on a little something, a poem of sorts.”

“Oh really?” Sapnap asks, leaning his face into his fist.

“It’s just a couple words that came to me, so don't go too hard on me, alright?” Dream replies.

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. There’s silence for a few moments, save for the grass rustling and pond murmuring a chorus of anticipation.

“Stories written in the creases of your worry lines. Your many layers of pain blanketed in newfound hope. These lands, founded and one day foundered. Things that make me hurt. You, who makes me feel. I want to be your light.”

All he can do is stare, entranced by this man, who speaks the way the heavens must sing. If he ever believed the world is good at heart, it’d be because Dream told him it was true. He’d have no other choice but to believe him.

The rush of heat to his face pushes him on to take another swing, carving out chunks of the tree in front of him. His nerves are crawling with pain and rage and all things that make him hurt, Dream, who makes him hurt. Sweat is beading on his forehead and freezing on his skin, his chestplate clammy and suffocating.

“I’m so storied with trauma, huh?” he says into the void, slashing at the air like it’s going to accomplish something. “Is that all I was was to you? A fucking pet project? You whisper all these beautiful things and make me feel like I was worth something?”

He drops his sword into the dirt and tears off his armor. Eyebrows tight-knit and teeth clamped in a vice grip, he throws a punch so hard his knuckles split and become wrought with splinters.

“Do you get off on this? Saving me just to turn around be the kind of ruler we gave up everything to escape from? You fucking asshole, piece of shit, I'm always going to be vulnerable to you, I'm always going to break to your will, even now that you've ruined _everything_."

He crashes to his knees, flexing his trembling fingers. His chest is heaving and he can't manage to catch his breath.

"It wasn't about me, was it? The poem? Was it- was it about him?" Sapnap says breathlessly, falling back, no longer able to hold himself up.

Can he blame him?

George is on Dream's level. Sapnap grew up as his right hand, by him through every step of the way, but he can’t compete with royalty. There is no worse feeling in the world than meeting someone's eyes and seeing them look right past you. 

How could Dream look at him? When someone worthy is right there?

Fuck, does it eat at him.

Sapnap’s simply gotten good at training any reaction out of himself, at least when anyone's watching.

The chill of the ground beneath him does good to dull his senses. He’s decided to lay here until his face goes expressionless again and he can carry on with his day. Maybe he’ll set a fire later, maybe he’ll hunt down Tommy, maybe he’ll kill something someone loves. He’ll get good and angry; he’ll destroy something, ruin someone’s life. That’s what he’s good for, isn’t it?

Bone-tired, he exhales puffs of mist, reminding him of the long winter ahead, and that all he has is memories to warm him. He wonders what memories Dream holds of those days, if he does at all. He wonders if he’s even present in them.

**Author's Note:**

> < . <  
> > . >  
> [@EtceterAngel](https://www.twitter.com/EtceterAngel)


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